


The Trials and Tribulations of Love

by LadyJanriel



Series: Trials and Tribulations [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Newt, Bottom Thomas, Bottoming from the Top, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Minho tops, Multi, Newt tops, Sexual Dysfunction, Slice of Life, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJanriel/pseuds/LadyJanriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The original story all the Trials and Tribulations side stories came from)</p><p>Thomas gets involved with his best friends Minho and Newt and fails to realize just how insecure he is about it.</p><p>(Continues into "The Trouble with Assumptions")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More tags as the story progresses, I forget what happens in here and who pops up.
> 
> This story takes place before Grocery Shopping, Sick Day and Assumptions, as you will find out XD I'll post a timeline of story events and link the stories appropriately with every chapter so that it makes sense. Explicit sexual content is possible, I have yet to decide. Chapter's one and two are clean so far though.
> 
> This story will eventually lead into The Trouble with Assumptions.

Thomas was a smart boy, he had to be in order to get into WCKD U, and smarter still to maintain his GPA for that full scholarship. He wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for his best friends Minho and Newt. He’d planned to keep things simple after Glader High; take a year off from studying and busting his butt on term papers; do a little soul searching, find his purpose in life. Figure out if college was something he wanted to do next. (Maybe bum around his house for the summer. He deserved it after busting ass for four years after all.)

But then, Newt had to go and get accepted into WCKED U, an Ivy League university paving way for the future thanks to their prestigious science department.

Thomas was fine with it. Happy even. Newt had done nothing but bust his ass to get into the renowned school; the acceptance letter had just been a sweet victory. 

When Minho had gotten accepted—thanks to his athletic prowess –Thomas was floored. He had wanted to take a break from the stresses of school, but with his two best friends moving to college in the fall, Thomas realized being left alone for a year was no longer an option. Not unless he wanted to be alone, bored out of his freaking mind, while his buddies have fun without him.

So he did the next best thing—he studied until his brain turned to goo, begged a few high school teachers for glowing letters of recommendations and churned out a heart wrenching, award winning, most bullshit worthy entrance essay with outstanding exam scores and hoped to whatever God that watched him it was enough to get in.

Luckily for him, it was.

Now, two semesters and one summer later, Thomas stood in the dormitory that will become their living space for the course of the year.

It was comfortably large—bigger than the two person dorms that was common place for the campus and certainly much more spacious than the single bed dorm Thomas had been stuck into the last two semesters. They had a kitchenette off to the right with cabinets for storage and a working sink. A small refrigerator stood to the side, positioned underneath counters with a black casing that showed their reflection and the words WCKD U painted in yellow. 

The small hallway led Thomas down to the main room—their only room honestly—where a single twin bed stood off to the left, pressed against a barren wall and a bunk bed stood to the right. A computer desk sat in between the beds, barren of junk and a chair tucked underneath. A dresser stood to Thomas’s right. To his left, by the single bed, was a wall length mirror attached to the closet door. Another empty dark wooden stand stood behind him—the perfect place for their TV and gaming systems.

The walls were a dull perfect white; the carpet, a standard brown, clean of filth and hair. But not for long.

Thomas grinned.

“This is great! We finally get to be roommates after all this time.”

“Yeah, bloody great that is,” Newt grunted. He dropped a pile of bags onto the single bed and released a sigh of relief. He whirled on Thomas, expression set in a glare. “Are you gonna gawk there all day or are you going to help me move everything in?”

“I’ll help,” He murmured sheepishly, though he eyed the empty beds again. He wondered where they would sleep.

Newt’s brows furrowed again. “Minho’s going to need help bringing the TV in.”

“You think that shuck face’s gonna try to get cable again?”

“Who you calling a shuck face, shuck face?” 

Thomas and Newt turned toward the door in surprise. Minho popped in with a grin, wheeling their flat screen TV into the room by trolley. He nudged Thomas playfully on the arm and gave Newt a wink. The blond rolled his eyes, but smiled in good humor.

“The TV’s not for cable Thomas, it’s for whooping you shanks in video games.”

“You really think we’re going to have time for games this semester?”

“We better!” Minho snorted. “Otherwise, I’m a have to kill myself. No way in hell they’re gonna keep me from relaxing this time around.”

“Did you bring the rest of the stuff in?” Newt asked, changing the subject.

Minho shook his head. “Nah, it’s still out in the hall.”

“I hope they didn’t break the bloody microwave again.” Newt grumbled, heading for the door. “Can’t keep replacing that damn thing.” He disappeared beyond the door, leaving Minho and Thomas behind. They exchanged partially amused glances.

“He’s moody today.”

“Not surprised.” Minho shrugged. Thomas noted the way his dark eyes shifted into concern. “Last semester was rough on him, getting sick like that.”

Thomas absently worried his lip. He remembered what that was like. Earlier on in the year, when the harsh winter months shifted into a reluctant spring, Newt came down with a nasty virus that rendered him immobile for nearly two months. That’d been hard on all of them.

“We should make it up to him. Let him know he’s not alone this year.”

Minho nodded. A smug grin wormed its way across his lips. “I’m thinking we should break in the dorm with a nice three-way. It’s been a while since either of us let a load off anyway. Newt’s already stressing, might as well make him feel good.” The track star suddenly halted, a thought popping into mind. “Oh klunk, that’s right. You haven’t done it with us yet, have you?”

“Done what?” Newt asked, reappearing into the room.

He gingerly set down the microwave on the counter then leaned against it as he eyed the boys with an inquisitive look. 

Thomas felt his face flare up in heat. 

He still wasn’t used to the idea of dating his best friends, it’d only been a few months since they made it official after all, and he most certainly wasn’t used to the idea of their relationship being polyamorous either. He really wasn’t sure how it was going to work.

Minho and Newt had been dating for over a year, but they were friends with benefits three months before that. Thomas was roped into the relationship fairly recently—start of the summer recent in fact. Before that, Thomas had only been in the usual monogamous relationships, and even then, they were rare and too far in-between. Since his addition, their dynamic barely changed. They went out together regardless if it was considered a date or not, and played games like they always did when it was just the three of them. 

Minho was still short-tempered; Newt still scolded them and Thomas still got them in trouble at the most inappropriate times.

Signs of affection like kissing and caresses, the occasional heated gropes and lust filled eyes—those were new additions, and sometimes, Thomas was taken off guard. Yet he didn’t mind. He quite liked their subtle addition. Sex on the other hand, that was a different matter entirely.

Minho laughed, the sound throaty and melodious in Thomas’s ears.

“Sex, Newt! We haven’t had sex with Thomas yet.”

Newt’s brows rose in a fine arch. “That’s right, we haven’t. How did we manage that?”

“Good question,” The athlete grinned. “I was just telling him we should celebrate our new domestic life with a threesome. Classes don’t start until Monday, so who’s up for an all-nighter?”

“You won’t last the whole night, Minho.”

“Maybe not, but the idea’s still nice.”

“Good that,” Newt nodded. He smirked a little impishly. “I’m in.”

Thomas balked. “Are you serious? Ju-just like that?”

Their glance was subtle, he would’ve missed it had he not been looking directly at them. Nerves blossomed in his chest.

“Something wrong Tommy?”

“It just seems…” He struggled to find the word.

“Strange?” Newt supplied, one brow raised again.

Thomas shrugged. Strange didn’t seem like the right word for it. Minho rested a hand on his shoulder, grabbing the younger boy’s attention.

“Think about it Thomas. You’ve got until tonight to decide, otherwise you can watch us.” He gave Newt a playful smile. “Anyway, I’ve gotta run. I have to meet up with the track coach. If I get out early, I’ll help you shanks with whatever still needs to be unpacked.”

With a tender squeeze and one last concealed look to Newt, Minho left the boys alone in the dorm.

Thomas stole a glance at the blond, surprised to find the older boy look straight back at him.

“What?”

Newt shook his head. “Come on. Help me get the dorm ready.”

Thomas watched him for a moment, his brain still scrambled and his chest heavy with anxiety, but he followed the blond into the hall for the rest of their things.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unedited. I'll fix it at a later time. XD

There wasn’t much to unpack in terms of furniture and boxes. The real struggle came from sorting out their clothes and the amount of closet space they were given. Newt claimed the dresser as his own, his excusing being he had gotten their first. He meticulously folded his clothes into nice little squares that would make any clothing store associate jealous and placed them gingerly into the drawer.

Thomas set up a few collapsible cubicles on each side of the closet, a part of him disappointed with having to share with Minho of all people. He could be neat all he wanted, but he couldn’t fool himself. Their closet would be a war zone in only a few weeks’ time, he was sure.

By the time he was done setting up the closet and had most of his clothes hanging, Newt was already sorting out Minho’s clothes in categories: sleepwear, daywear, socks and tighty-whities. The brunet couldn’t help but snicker.

He always knew his boyfriend was a neat freak. It wasn’t quite on the level of being unbearable, at least he hoped it wouldn’t be, but he never knew it extended to their own items too.

“He’s just going to mess it up, you know.”

Newt shrugged. He carefully folded white briefs into the underwear pile. “It keeps me calm.”

Thomas frowned, concerned again. “What are you nervous about, Newt?”

The new school year had barely even started. What could already have gotten the blond boy worried so soon?

“Nothin’ really,” he muttered. He folded another pair of boxers and set them down on top of another pile. “Mostly thinking about what you said earlier. Or what you didn’t say.” Newt set the last piece of clothing down and turned to Thomas, eyes swimming in worry. “We never got a chance to talk about it during the summer—what with you and Minho helping me get my life back together after the hospital—and then there was preparing for school again, but now there’s nothing keeping us distracted. I just wanted to let you know, if you have a problem Tommy, you can always talk to me about it. And I mean, a problem with us, this relationship. You, me and Minho. It’s new to you, hell, it’s new to us, but we care about you and we want you to be happy. So if there’s anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” Newt’s expression was hopeful and pleading. Thomas didn’t have the heart to open his mouth.

He didn’t have a problem. Not truly. He only had questions, a lot of them, but he felt stupid thinking about it let alone asking them. 

Thomas shook his head. He gave Newt an appreciative smile and said, “Thanks for the offer Newt, but I’ll be alright. You guys just keep doing what you normally do. If something bothers me, I’ll let you know.”

Newt didn’t seem satisfied with that response. He appeared to want to fight it and Thomas would let him, but to his surprise, Newt dropped the subject. He turned back to the newly folded clothes and set out to put them away on Minho’s behalf, even if that meant some of his daywear clothes had to be unfolded for the hanger. 

Thomas chose to set up their game system in the meanwhile.

 

WCKD U. was a beautiful place when you got over the towering sterile white building and the golden plated lettering adorned as a beacon on the highest building. It was a surprisingly large campus despite the small gathering of students that were smart enough or rich enough to get in, yet it was breathtaking all the same. 

Thomas didn’t care too much for the place.

It’d been Newt who wanted so desperately to come here. He and Minho had merely followed for the blond.

With their dorm set up for the semester—and Newt busying himself with grabbing their schedules—Thomas found himself wandering the campus in boredom. He saw a few familiar faces along the way. Teresa Agnes from his literature class last semester, as well as long lost childhood friend, waved as she and Rachel, her roommate he supposed, carried a box up the stairs to their two-person dorm. 

He caught sight of Ben, a former track member he had met through Minho, speaking with Gally, an asshole Thomas had hoped flunked out last semester. (He didn’t of course, because Thomas wasn’t that lucky.) They paid him no mind and Thomas was perfectly fine with that. He liked Ben, didn’t have a problem with the guy, but Gally was a thorn on his side and the worst rival he had the displeasure of knowing. They became rivals the moment they bumped heads in science last Autumn and ever since then, they’d done nothing but discreetly sabotage each other in the hopes of gaining the better hand. (Newt didn’t approve, but Minho thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.)

He hoped he didn’t have another class with Gally this semester. Seeing him again after two semesters in a row was enough to last him a lifetime.

He made his way past the boys, internally hoping neither one of them would acknowledge him. No such luck. Gally spared him a glance, barely a flicker of contact—Thomas thought he might have imagined it—but the older boy resumed his conversation with Ben as though Thomas didn’t even exist. 

How wonderful.

He continued on his way, straining his ears as he went. He wouldn’t put it past Gally to come after him once Ben was out of sight. The further along he went, the less he heard. Gally must not have cared enough today. Too early in the semester then? He wasn’t aware they had a set time for the rivalry to begin. Huh.

He could deal with that.

On his walk, he caught sight of Alby and Aris. He waved to Sonya and even helped Harriett carry her bags up the stairs into their building. He didn’t linger too long on familiar faces, didn’t really feel inclined to talk to anyone that wasn’t Newt or Minho.

He stopped in front of the gates to the track pit and peaked down the slope to catch sight of the members lounging around in their daywear clothes as Coach Jorge spoke to the boys and girls, his hands animated in a wild display of something and his mouth moving a mile a minute. Thomas was too far to hear what he had to say, but he imagined it must have been words of encouragement, reminders to eat healthy and the punishment they would receive if any of them got sick before the tournaments started. 

He caught sight of Minho lounging casually on the sidelines, head drawn back in a laugh with another teammate. He looked so relaxed in that environment, like the world couldn’t get to him. And maybe it couldn’t. Minho had always said running was his way of escaping the troubles of the real world.

Newt cleaned.

Minho ran.

Thomas? Well, he brooded.

The group below began to move. Thomas snapped out of his thoughts in time to catch the runners head his way. He stepped aside as the gate opened and smiled at the familiar and unfamiliar faces that greeted him. Minho wrapped an arm around his shoulder before he could react and planted a quick yet tender kiss against his temple. Heat seared across his neck and cheeks. He ducked, embarrassed, and hoped none of the others had seen what Minho had done. The athlete snickered. He held him close despite Thomas’s embarrassment. 

“Did you make up your mind yet?” He asked, steering Thomas away from the pit. He waved to a couple of his friends as they walked.

“What?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “About tonight, shuck face. Did you already forget?”

The heat intensified. He fidgeted. 

“Uh… I’m… still thinking.” He muttered. “But, um, Newt and I finished with the dorm after you abandoned us.” He hoped Minho wouldn’t see the change of topic. He didn’t want to chance looking up at him just to know.

He heard the subtle exhale; could almost feel the disappointment radiating from the track captain. It made the shame bubble again and his face burn red. He felt guilty. He didn’t want to disappoint Minho.  
“I didn’t abandon you guys, I had track stuff. I’m captain of the team slinthead, I’ve got a responsibility to my teammates, ya know.”

His tone was playful despite the disappointment. It made Thomas feel all the more guilty.

“Yeah, yeah,” He tried to grin. “That’s just an excuse for you to get out of physical labor.”

Minho’s laugh came as a deep chortle. He pulled Thomas in close, arms wrapped around his smaller frame. Heat radiated from his skin again, his mind spiraling into a panic at the idea of how they must look like in the public eye. He wiggled against Minho’s grip, but that only made the athlete hug him tighter, another laugh rumbling his chest. He buried his nose into the crook between Thomas’s neck and shoulder and planted another soft kiss against the flesh.

“Hey,” He murmured, “If you’re not comfortable with sex tonight, we can always do something a little lighter.”

“You guys have been doing it without me for a year. Don’t change on my account.”

Minho pulled away then, dark eyes peering into his. 

“You’re not getting this at all.”

Thomas frowned. He felt like an idiot again and he hated it. Minho tipped his chin upwards, having broken their eye contact in his moment of self-loathing.

“Come on Thomas, use that shucking brain of yours. You’re our best friend and now our boyfriend. I get that’s probably shucking weird for you, being in a relationship like this, but it only means Newt and I care for you deeper than most people would. So yeah, things are gonna change for us. It’s not going to be just me and Newt anymore, but to be honest, it never really was. It was always the three of us. Newt wants you. I want you. We love you. We care for you. So tell me truthfully right now, no vague answers. No lies. Do you want to do something with us tonight?”

Thomas hesitated. 

Sex wasn’t the issue. He might not have had it, but he understood the mechanics behind it and the necessity for it. He was sure sex with a guy was no different than sex with a girl, give or take a few things. It was just… Minho and Newt were his best friends since freshman year in high school. Not just that, he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having one of them watching. How were they all going to get involved? Wasn’t there a thing about tops and bottoms? Would they have to take turns? Wouldn’t someone get left out if they didn’t want to bottom? And what about condoms? They’d need to wear some, wouldn’t they? Should he tell them he was allergic to certain brands? And the lube? Oh god, he was allergic to certain lube brands too!

Shit. Why didn’t he think about doing research beforehand?!

Minho sighed. The silence between them disconcerting.

“Like I said, we can start off slow.”

Thomas snapped out of his thoughts. “H-how?” He felt stupid again asking such a dumb question, Minho seemed thoughtful, almond shaped dark eyes staring off into the distance.

“Hmm, I’m thinking we can start off with hand jobs, maybe a BJ if anyone’s adventurous. Does that sound better?”

“I can do that.” He nodded.

“Good that,” Minho grinned. He planted a chaste kiss against Thomas lips before the boy could protest and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go tell Newt the news.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: failed hand job in this chapter. 
> 
> Don't believe anyone who tells you writing a threesome scene is easy. It's not. Trust me on this.
> 
> Excuse any grammatical and/or spelling errors.

Newt was on the lonesome twin bed against the wall, nursing a cup of jo’ in one hand while checking the school schedule in the other, when his boyfriends returned to the dorm. He gave them a welcoming smile and gestured to a couple of mugs on the counter, already steaming in wait.

“Just made it. I figured you’d want some. There are cookies here too.” He gestured to a container filled with chocolate chip cookies on the desk beside the bed. “A gift for Thomas, apparently.”  
Minho arched an eyebrow at the brunet.

Thomas rolled his eyes, familiar with the look. “Must have been from Teresa or Harriet. I saw them earlier on my walk.”

“Tommy has many secret admirers.” Newt laughed, though it didn’t sound as genuine as it should have been. If anything, it sounded bitter. Minho, on the other hand, looked mildly annoyed. Almost as though he was unhappy for some inexplicable reason. Something warm and fuzzy wormed its way into Thomas’s chest at the look on their expressions. Were they jealous? 

He shut down his brain before it could spiral out of control. He grabbed a mug from the counter and joined Newt on the bed, slipping in with relative ease. He plucked a couple of cookies from the plastic container and gave Newt an appreciate smile.

“Thanks for the hot coco,” He leaned his head against Newt’s shoulder comfortably, mindful of their hot drinks. “It’s a bit off season for hot coco though.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s never off season for hot coco.”

Minho joined them on the bed, his own mug in hand. He sat near the end by their drawn up legs, dark brown eyes falling on the sheet of paper in Newt’s hand.

“Whaddya readin’?” He asked through a mouthful of cookie.

Newt scoffed in repulsion. “Swallow before you speak, Min. That’s bloody disgusting. And this is my schedule for this semester. I picked up everyone’s.”

“I know my schedule.” He countered. “Lots of klunk classes and track until my knees give out.”

“What about you, Tommy?”

Thomas shrugged. He took a drink from his cup, savoring the sweetness of melted marshmallows and the slight bitterness of chocolate on his tongue.

“I think I can remember it.”

Newt nodded in response, his face set in a slight frown.

Minho chugged the remainder of his hot chocolate and set the mug on the floor, much to Newt’s distaste. 

“So!” He began, patting his knees in excitement. “You shanks ready for some quality bonding?” He flashed them a grin, pearly white and positively lecherous. 

Thomas stiffened, his heart rate quickening. (He missed the way Newt turned to him, an inquisitive look in his eyes or the way Minho’s expression sobered subtly.)

“We-we’re just doing handjobs today, right? Like mutual masturbation?”

Minho’s lecherous smile turned amused. “Yeah greenbean, we’re taking it slow for ya.”

“Don’t call me that,” Thomas sulked. His response only made the older boy smile more.

Newt turned to Minho then, silently questioning their change of plans.

“Oh yeah, Thomas looked uncomfortable with the threesome idea, so I told him we could take it slow for him. You don’t mind right?”

He didn’t. Thomas felt relieved. A part of him worried his inexperience would frustrate the duo, but so far, they’d been nothing but patient. 

Minho crawled up the length of their legs, dark eyes flashing in delight as heat crawled up Thomas’s neck again. He pressed himself against the cropping of pillows, watching with bated breath as Minho ascended toward him. A devious smirk crossed his handsome face then—one he shared with Newt briefly—before capturing Thomas’s lips with his own. He craned his neck into Minho’s kiss, the taller boy cupping his face. He felt his face burn as he exposed the creamy flesh of his neck for Newt to mar with loving, tender kisses. 

Thomas whimpered, their touches intoxicating. Newt licked and nipped. Minho caressed and claimed.

They switched suddenly; Newt claiming his lips and Minho planting kisses down his neck. He pulled Newt closer to deepen the kiss, using his tongue in an effort to claim the blond’s mouth, but Minho’s ministrations against his flesh weakened his determination. He felt the blond’s smile against his lips, a small chuckle close behind.

They traded again, this time leaving Thomas to lock lips with each other. He watched them, feeling breathless and aroused. He was terribly hot and anxious to relieve his inflamed body, but he didn’t dare to move as they kissed; wasn’t even sure if they wanted him to do anything at this moment. He felt inclined to join them, wanted to suck on Newt’s pale flesh while Minho dominated his mouth or bite onto the athlete’s jugular while Newt nibbled on his bottom lip. 

Thoughts on how their relationship would work started pouring into his mind. 

They could take turns, it seemed. They would try to fulfill each other’s needs; take into consideration what each of them wanted. If they felt awkward or uncomfortable, they could talk it out. Newt and Minho seemed patient enough with him that taking it slow wouldn’t be a problem for them, right?

Thomas barely registered Newt’s naked torso, broad and smooth, in front of his face. He didn’t notice Minho stripping off his shirt, showing off his tanned, built abs from years of sports and exercise. And he sure as hell didn’t register his own shirt flying off until it flopped to ground in a messy heap with theirs. They were on him again, peppering his bare torso with soft kisses and light nips. 

Minho reached for the zipper on his jeans, the loud ZIP of his pants being undone derailed the brunet’s thoughts harshly. He jerked upwards, nearly head-butting into Newt’s body and startling the duo.

“Wait! Wait,” He blushed, taking in their half-naked forms for the first time. “We-we’re just going to do it on Newt’s bed? It’s not big enough, don’t you think?”

“Shut off your brain for once, Thomas.” Minho smirked, amused. “You’re going to kill your own mood if you keep overthinking this.”

“But—”

“The bed is fine, Tommy.” Newt cut in, his voice soft as though he were cajoling a child. Thomas couldn’t blame him, he felt unexpectedly skittish with Mino so close to his groin. “Minho’s goin’ to pleasure you first while you’ll do me.”

“Then who does Minho?”

“Preferably the both of you.” The athlete grinned. He reached over and planted a kiss on Thomas’s temple. “Now chill out, shut off your shucking brain and go with the flow.”

Thomas opened his mouth to retort, but Newt’s lips silenced his words before he could voice them. He moaned into the blond’s mouth, the heat in the pit of his stomach reigniting. He forced his mind to focus on their treatment, the way Newt’s tongue would flow into his mouth like a tide; how his long fingers caressed his jawline or tangled themselves in his chocolate brown hair. He felt the way Minho took off his jeans, how his nails accidentally scratched into his thighs and sent a spark of pain through his nerves. Another moan had escaped his throat then. The sharp, quick prick had silenced his thoughts, but now as Minho carefully tugged off his underwear, Thomas felt his anxiety return. 

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He wanted to pull Newt in close, have his fingers roam across that startling body. He wanted to bury them into the older boy’s golden locks or leave a fluttering trail of light touches all the way down to Newt’s hardening length. He wanted to squeeze the boy’s ass, maybe tug on Minho’s hair. He wanted to do something, but as it stood, his hands were frozen on Newt’s hips, trembling with nerves and growing clammy with sweat.

His body jolted unexpectedly; something rough, yet warm and slick with a gel like substance wrapped around his half-hard erection. Lube. It must have been lube. Minho had the lube.

_Oh god._

The thought of what kind of lube crossed his mind. He didn’t get a chance to tell them about his allergies.

Newt pulled away suddenly, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from kissing. He planted another sweet kiss along the brunet’s neck then turned back to Minho, brown eyes searching.

Minho glanced up from his work, tanned hand coated in lube, his grip tight around Thomas, but not unbearable. (In truth, Thomas felt it was too loose for his liking.) He silently questioned the blond’s expression, face curiousg, but Newt merely shook his head and returned back to Thomas. 

“Thomas needs more stimulation.” Newt paused, surprised etched in his eyes. Thomas felt his toes clench in embarrassment, Minho’s fingers stroking his half-hard length. “He’s not fully erect here.”

“I’ve got it.” 

Newt gazed into his dark brown eyes, looking as though he were searching for something. He leaned in close, his stare shifting toward Thomas’s lips. They were kissing in seconds, more reverently than before. Minho hummed a response, but said nothing more.

Thomas tried to shut out his thoughts, but they were persistent. He hoped it wouldn’t ruin their time together.

 

Humiliation kept him up for most of the night. Despite how hard they tried, Thomas couldn’t climax and the embarrassment and disappointment that came after soured his mood beyond repair. His inability to perform halted their progress. 

It shouldn’t have. 

Minho and Newt were well enough into the mood to keep going without him, but instead of continuing for their own release, they chose to stop on his behalf and forced their own arousals to slip away. They all curled together on Newt’s bed that night, the humiliated brunet in-between them, still naked and bothered from their failed session. Minho was the first to succumb to sleep, but Newt lingered longer, watching him in the dark. Thomas felt the blond wanted to talk to him, perhaps ask him if he was okay. Maybe tell him he shouldn’t feel bad. But Thomas did and he couldn’t help it. 

When Newt managed to drift off, Thomas stayed awake for hours thinking about what had gone wrong. He’d been so into it. Sure, he stuttered a bit; felt anxious and uncertain at certain points, but he’d been aroused. He was looking forward to the experience. He trusted Minho. He trusted Newt. What had happened?

It took him ages, but he had managed to fall asleep only to wake up a few hours later to the sound of birds chirping beyond their window and the light bustling of students out in the hall. He felt squished in-between their bodies, hot with the blankets drawn and hotter knowing they were stark naked underneath. Images from last night flashed into his mind and he felt the humiliation of disappointing them burn onto his cheeks again.

Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable lying there. Too hot. Too vulnerable. 

He sat up hastily, disentangling himself from Minho’s grip and shoved away the blanket. The cool air of the dorm felt nice against his heated skin and it relieved him of the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm his exhausted mind. Movement from his right caught his eye. 

Newt stirred, his blond hair disheveled from sleep and his face screwed up in discomfort. He’d been pushed against the wall for most of the night, his left arm serving as a pillow while his right arm had been draped around Thomas. Now, as he struggled to sit up, Thomas figured his left arm had fallen asleep, cut from circulation for most of the night. He grumbled in annoyance, trying his best to flex the dead hand.

Minho rested precariously near the edge of the bed on his stomach. His legs were thrown out haphazardly—most of it were on Thomas’s—while his left arm had laid across the brunet’s chest; his right arm dangled off the bed and grazed the carpet below. He drooled onto the mattress, still dead to the world despite the movement.

How the three of them managed to fit onto the tiny twin bed was beyond him. They were lucky he hadn’t really slept, otherwise he was certain Minho would have fallen to the floor by now.

Newt’s yawn brought him out of his thoughts, and to his horror, he found he couldn’t quite face the blond just yet. He climbed out of the bed with surprising ease and made for the closet for a fresh pair of clothes. He felt the boy’s eyes as he dressed. He picked up his pace when he felt he was being naked for too long. 

“Tommy—”

A loud thump startled the duo into silence. Thomas whirled back to the bed in time to catch sight of a groggy, unhappy looking Minho sit up from the floor. He rubbed the side of his head, a streak of drool glistening at the corner of his lips. 

“What the klunk Newt? I’m awake.” He grumbled.

Newt rolled his eyes. “You fell off on your own, shank. No one told you to roll.” He stared back at Thomas, grabbing the boy’s full attention. “Tommy, we need to talk about last night—”

“I’m sorry,” he interjected, feeling fidgety and uncomfortable under Newt and Minho’s gaze. “I’ll try harder next time. I got… my nerves distracted me.”

“Maybe the three of us together was too much.” Minho yawned. He climbed to his feet, showing off his toned, fit body with pride and joy. The embarrassment was back, but so too was the arousal. 

Thomas looked away from Minho, annoyed with his body, but relieved. He was attracted to them at least. He was just… over thinking things. 

“Let’s try it individually and work our way to a group.” Newt suggested when it looked like Minho was too sleepy to continue. “That way, you can get used to us at your own pace, Tommy.”

“S-sounds good…”

He glanced up at the clock, noting the time. Today was the last day to get everything done before the start of the semester that Monday. With their dorm finally organized and their schedules set up for the year, there was only a few things left for them to do: shopping for food and their school supplies. As for Thomas, he needed to make sure his classes were correct.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the errors. I should probably warn that this story is going to be slow going since I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to connect it to Assumptions.

He examined his schedule with a critical eye while Newt dragged the three of them around the bookstore in search of their supplies. Minho yawned behind them, grumbling about sleep deprivation and the musty scent of books, papers and writing utensils. Thomas ignored them as they walked.

His schedule wasn’t nearly as packed as his boyfriends as he didn’t have a definitive major. He and Minho were both Liberal Arts majors, yet with Minho’s prowess in athleticism, his scheduled was packed with training sessions and special programs. Newt, on the other hand, is a medical student. It was no surprise to Thomas the blond’s schedule was packed with classes. At least he had small study hall sessions sprinkled throughout the day. Compared to them, Thomas’s classes were few and far between. He had more free time to rot in their dorm and, hopefully, have less stress to deal with now that none of them were dying from weird diseases or overwhelming themselves with classes way out of their leagues. (He hoped anyway. It was still too early to call.)

Worse yet, he knew his classes were easy. Despite his outstanding examination scores and WCKD U’s insistence on advanced courses, Thomas chose to keep his life simple this semester. The likelihood of passing all his classes with barely any attendance was extremely high, and with Newt and Minho being busy out the ass, Thomas felt he could get away with his horrible attendance. Unless it was Professor Janson in which case skipping English was not an option and more like a death sentence.

“You only have four classes this semester?”

Thomas turned to Minho in surprise, catching him read his schedule of his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to work too much this semester.”

Newt scoffed in disapproval. He, just like the rest of the university staff, felt Thomas was wasting his potential in classes he didn’t need.

“C’mon Tommy, you could’ve applied to more than that. You juggled six classes your first semester here and managed to pass them with flying colors. You should have signed up for their science program, you would do well.”

Thomas scowled. “You sound like Rat Man: ‘ _You would do well in our technology program, Thomas._ ’ No thanks. I don’t want to.”

“I understand your pain, shuckface, but what are you going to do with all that free time? It’s not like we’re going to have the time to hang out this year.”

Thomas shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far. “I can help you train for the games this year.” He suggested. Minho’s brows rose up in contemplation. “Most of my classes are easy anyway. I think by the time the winter games come around, I’ll be stress free enough to help you train.”

“Mm, a sweat soaked Thomas helping me train. I think a like this idea.” The athlete grinned. Thomas’s blush made his grin more lecherous than it needed to be.

“I can already hear Professor Janson crying now.” Newt sighed exasperatedly. He grabbed a heavy English book from the shelf and dumped it into the basket in his hand. 

Thomas and Minho scowled.

Professor Janson, aka Rat Man, was one of the big wigs in the university. Not only was he a student counselor, but he was head of the English department and one of the faculty members constantly on Thomas’s case. He’d been saved the discomfort of having Janson as his professor the last two semesters; he only had to deal with the man as a counselor. This year, however, he was unlucky. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have him as my literature professor.”

Newt’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. Minho barked out a laugh.

“Oh man! That’s some shitty luck you have there, Thomas!”

“Thanks,” the brunet deadpanned.

Newt suddenly handed him the same English book he had picked up from the shelf. “I guess this means we’re classmates, Tommy.”

Minho’s laughter caught off abruptly. “Seriously?”

They spared him a curious look. 

“Are you shanks pulling my leg? Are you telling me that we’re all in the same lit class together?”

Thomas broke into a wide smile, his mood lifting. “You have him too Minho?”

The older boy nodded, his expression a mixture of amusement and regret.

“I was thinking of withdrawing but if you shanks are gonna be there, I’ll stay. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you both suffer Rat Man’s lessons without me as a buffer?”

Newt chuckled at the boy’s antics but Thomas found himself frowning. “I’m going to suffer regardless. He seems obsessed with me.” 

“Because you’re a smart boy and you’re wasting your time with classes you don’t need.” Newt chided. He dumped two more English books into his basket, grunting from the weight. (Minho made to take the basket from his hands but Newt stopped him with a glare.) “Don’t worry about it, Tommy. Professor Janson has a full semester this year. There’s no way he’ll find the time to bother you.”

Thomas could only hope.

 

With their bags loaded with heavy textbooks, notebooks, folders and writing supplies, the boys made their way across campus for home before setting off to the grocery store. 

The university was still bustling today; late students with their moving trucks blocked off the usual parking lot. Students who had already settled in wandered around campus in search of old friends, new friends, class supplies or something to occupy their time. 

Minho and Newt waved at familiar faces, greeted those who called their names and smiled at those they didn’t recognize but felt inclined to give them recognition anyway. Thomas, on the other hand, walked in silence beside them, his mind churning with thoughts.

Images from last night came into mind, followed by questions, concerns and mortification. He didn’t want to make their arrangement anymore of a big deal than it already was. Newt and Minho were in for a busy semester, the chances of the three of them coming together like that were starting to grow slim and Thomas wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. If they planned on starting slow with him, he hoped his E.D. wouldn’t be a hindrance. He’d just been nervous that time. He was sure if Minho or Newt wanted him to please them individually, he would be up to the task. He had to be, otherwise, what purpose did he have for staying with them?

(He supposed he didn’t have to be fully functional to make it work.)

A part of them wondered what the rest of their friends would think if they discovered their relationship. Not that he cared so much. (Okay, he did a little.) He knew for a fact Minho and Newt didn’t—they were obvious with their relationship when it first began after all—he couldn’t help the curiosity. 

(A part of him wondered how no one knew yet, despite how obvious Minho and Newt were with their relationship.)

Would Teresa think it weird? Would Aris? He knew Alby wouldn’t care regardless. 

What would Gally think?

He snorted at the thought, missing the inquisitive glance Newt shot his way. 

Gally would tease him if he knew. He would find it wrong and unnatural. Maybe even a little disgusting. He didn’t think the guy was homophobic or anything—he was pretty cordial with Newt after all—but a poly relationship was a different kind of circumstance. Some people didn’t understand that.

(Sometimes he couldn’t help wonder if he didn’t either.)

Thomas stole a glance at the boys. They weren’t holding hands like they normally would when together, but they hadn’t been doing that since Thomas’s inclusion. Not in public anyway. Did they stop on his account? Because they knew he wasn’t comfortable with their PDA?

Did they think he would grow jealous? Ashamed? 

They didn’t have to stop. Minho and Newt were Minewt before he came along. They were entitled to their affections with each other. He felt horrible thinking they would stop on his account.

A warm, slightly sweaty hand embraced his own. He snapped out of his thoughts upon contact and caught sight of Newt’s penetrating eyes gazing into his own. Concern swam behind those dark eyes.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Thomas stole a glance over Newt’s shoulder. Minho seemed preoccupied with someone unfamiliar behind them, their conversation heated with the way the track captain grew red in the face. Newt followed his gaze but provided no explanation. He merely shrugged and brought the brunet closer, their fingers entangling. 

“Out with it, Tommy. Nothing good comes outta you when you’re quiet like this.”

“I was just thinking.”

“That was apparent,” the blond deadpanned. “About what you slinthead?”

“Us.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he realized it.

Newt stopped in his tracks, his unexpected halt jarring Thomas. Minho and his companion walked on, no more aware of their surroundings than Thomas was about their conversation.

“What about us?”

Thomas felt embarrassed for even mentioning it. (Made worse by the fact this wasn’t the first time today Newt had to ask him what had him so preoccupied.)

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s something if it’s got you this preoccupied.” The blond frowned, his disapproval radiating off him in waves. “This is about last night, isn’t it? It’s still bothering you.”

Thomas sighed in defeat. There was no use in avoiding it now.

“Look, I don’t want you and Minho to change because of me. Just because I’m uncomfortable with PDA doesn’t mean you two can’t be lovey-dovey with each other, okay? I won’t get upset if you two want to spend time alone together or something. I don’t… if what happened yesterday happens again, I’ll make up for it. I’ll figure it out. I just… I hope that doesn’t change us.”

Newt searched his face for a moment, making Thomas’s nerves react unpleasantly. He trembled slightly on his feet, his heart quickening. He hoped Newt couldn’t feel his quivers through their fingers. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore than he needed to. He nodded a moment later, though the displeasure remained etched in his eyes. Thomas felt the guilt gnaw at him.

“I’ll tell Minho that’s how you feel, but you don’t have to feel ashamed about what happened last night. It happens. You were nervous and it was your first time. I promise we’ll go slow next time.” The sincerity in his voice was enough to make Thomas wince, but he resisted the urge. He wanted there to be a next time, he just hoped he wouldn’t disappoint either of them again. 

“Hey you shanks!” Minho called from the housing building steps. “You guys coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming!” Thomas yelled. He gave New a bright smile, one he hoped wasn’t as forced as it felt, and tugged the blond along. 

(He missed the discreet glance Minho gave to Newt, a silent question passing between them. Newt’s response was just as silent, he lips mouthing over the words later.)

Minho grabbed onto Thomas’s free hand, giving the boy a devilish smile, as they walked down the now empty hallway toward their dorm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the errors ;w;
> 
> Please read  Grocery Shopping before reading this chapter to understand the reference(s)

After they sorted out their books and groceries, and Minho wrapped his head around the possibilities that Thomas could be allergic to a large assortment of things—

(“Maybe that’s why you couldn’t get it up last night, you’re probably allergic to that brand.”

“Minho!”

“That’s not how allergies work, Min.”)

—they spent the rest of the day in the company of friends. The boys met up with Alby, Aris and Teresa, who had brought along Rachel, Harriet and Sonya, for one last round of fun before the hustle and bustle of Monday started. 

They went out for drinks; ordered food at a restaurant they could all afford—most definitely the last time they would be able to—and laughed their day away. They barely made it back in time for curfew, before the gates closed off for the night and the only way in was by waking up the head security guard or the Dean. Both options were unpleasant, really.

Thomas claimed the bottom bunk as his bed that night. Minho climbed the top while Newt re-claimed the single twin bed he had sat in the day previously. Minho had tried to tempt both boys on another amorous adventure, but the slight buzz of alcohol and their full, content stomachs made both him and Newt far too sleepy for anything strenuous. 

They were all asleep before they knew it.

 

He woke with a start that following morning, his body sore from a bad sleeping position and his stomach growling for food. He stretched the full length of his bed, catching the sweet melody of the morning birds just outside their window and the eerie silence of an empty dorm hallway. Thomas stilled mid-stretch.

He jerked upright, whipped his head to the bed across from his; Newt’s sheets were neatly made, pressed down to near perfection as Newt always did. He didn’t hear Minho’s snoring or see the muscular, tanned arm hanging down the side like he expected it would. 

With trepidation, he turned to the clock Newt had hung up on the wall. It read 9:30 in the morning. 

“SHIT!”

First day of school and he was already late for class.

 

Thomas sat sulkily in the lunch hall that afternoon, pushing around vanilla pudding with a plastic spoon. Across from him sat Newt, a half-eaten container of chocolate pudding in his hand. 

The blond rolled his eyes. ”I tried wakin’ you, but you sleep like the bloody dead. What did you expect me to do? Drag you out?”

“You should have,” he grumbled. “It was the first class of the semester, Newt. That’s a bad first impression.”

The blond shrugged nonchalantly. “At least it wasn’t Professor Janson’s class.”

Thomas shuddered. He was lucky in that sense. Rat Man would never get off his case if Thomas missed his class. (Newt wouldn’t either, but it was easier to keep him from knowing than Janson. Besides, he could bribe the blond.)

“I guess,” he murmured, resigned. He dropped the spoon into his pudding and slid it away from them. “Where’s Minho? We have class next.”

“Right here!” He grinned. Minho plucked the pudding off the table and began devouring it, his cheeks flushed and his black hair still damp from a recent shower. He eyeballed Newt’s unfinished pudding with interest, but the blond snatched the treat before Minho could reach for it.

He gave him a silent, challenging look. Minho stuck out his tongue.

“Fine, don’t give me your pudding.”

“Good that, because it’s mine.”

“How was morning practice?” Thomas smiled, amused.

Minho rolled his eyes, a scowl on his lips. “Could’ve been better. Too many shanks forgot to keep fit over the summer. Coach ragged on them hardcore as punishment. Not me though, I out ran those shanks three times over before Coach decided I could leave early.”

“So what made you late?” Thomas asked. He stole a piece of bread from Newt’s tray and examined it carefully. He ignored Newt’s chuckle, but felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck anyway.  
Minho’s spoon scraped the bottom of the pudding cup for the last bits of vanilla pudding. “I was showering.” There was a hidden duh in his statement that Thomas refused to acknowledge. 

“Well then,” Newt began. He tossed Minho an apple then gathered his things. “We’ve got English next. Let’s not be late for that, yeah?”

“Good that,” the boys chimed.

 

Professor Janson was already seated in his desk by the time the boys arrived. They were some of the early few in the class since neither one of them wanted to ignite Rat Man’s ire so early in the semester. They sat somewhere in the middle of the class, with Thomas by the window, Newt in between and Minho closer to the center of the room.

(Truthfully, Minho and Thomas would have preferred the back, but Newt didn’t seem too keen on the idea even if it was Rat Man’s class.)

Janson ignored them for the most part, but Thomas was not fooled. He didn’t need to look up from his book to know he had fully acknowledge Thomas’s presence in the classroom. Thomas may not have had class with the professor until now, but he did have him as a counselor, he recognized the subtle movements of his body language. Professor Janson was much more alert now than he was before, that was for sure.

Thomas glanced back to his companions carefully, not wanting Janson to know he associated with them, though he wasn’t really sure why. He didn’t like the idea of Rat Man knowing anything about his personal life, really. As he expected, however, Newt and Minho were oblivious to the professor’s subtle changes. 

He exhaled grimly.

 

English went off without a hitch. Once everyone was accounted for, Professor Janson started with the obligatory introductions and what he expected from everyone during the course of the semester. 

Thomas felt that was a personal offense. The way Janson’s eyes fell on him after every rule made him feel like the man was expecting miracles. Newt and Minho must have noticed it too, because they seemed a lot more agitated as the period went on. Gally had also noticed what with the way the boy’s expression ranged from arrogance to resentment every time he looked Thomas’s way.

(It was bad enough he was taking the class with Rat Man of all people, but did Gally really need to be in this class too?)

The rest of the session was filled with introductions from the students, a quick rundown of the syllabus and the soft scratching of pens against paper as Rat Man had unloaded their first assignment. The grumbles were silenced by the professor’s steely glare.

Thomas was the first one done. He kept his pen held high, mimicking the movements of writing, as he discreetly examined the rest of the class for any more early birds. Newt sent him an inquisitive look but refocused on the assignment before Thomas could reply. Minho seemed stuck, his page only half full with scribbles Thomas hoped were coherent enough for Rat Man. Movement from the right caught his attention.

Gally stood, paper at hand—his writing astonishingly neat despite their crunch for time, from what Tomas could see. He carefully dropped his assignment into the empty basket on Janson’s desk. He gave the professor a kind smile, one Janson returned with a curt nod, then returned to his desk to gather his things.

Thomas stood up then. He caught Gally’s smug gaze on his way to the front, a part of him wanted to rub in the fact that he’d been finished with his paper five minutes before Gally did.

Professor Janson watched him upon his approach. He gave the brunet a smile, as though he were pleased to see Thomas, and plucked the paper right out of Thomas’s hand. 

“I heard you were late to your first class, Thomas.” He tore his eyes away from the sheet to stare at Thomas. “Why is that?”

Annoyance burned his blood. He kept his face neutral despite his irritation.

“Woke up late,” he murmured.

Jason’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah, yes. You’re living with others, is that right?” 

“Yeah, but that’s irrelevant. I went to bed late.”

The man nodded. He dropped the paper into the basket then gave Thomas a pleasant smile.

“Good work Thomas. I expect great things from you.”

“Right,” He grumbled.

He gave his boyfriends’ a pleading look before exiting the classroom.

 

“I hope that shank isn’t bloody up to nothin’,” Newt growled the moment they were together again. “What business does he have asking you about us?”

“Trouble is what,” Minho said, a scowl on his face. “Probably thinks it’s our fault Thomas was late.”

“Exactly.” Thomas frowned. “I told you guys, Rat Man’s obsessed with me. He’s worse than Gally!”

“Speaking of, did you see the look that shank gave you? I wanted to punch him in that ugly face of his.”

“Minho,” Newt chided.

The athlete rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to of course. I’m not going to give Rat Man any reason to have me removed from the building.”

“Good that,” Newt gave each of them a kiss on the lips. “I’m going to class. See you two later. And stay out of trouble! The both of you!”

“We’ll save you dinner.” Thomas promised.

Newt gave them a wave before disappearing behind the classroom door. 

Minho patted Thomas on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your next class.”

 

Thomas had Gally in two more classes after that. He seemed more genial until he spotted Thomas in the room, and although his earlier smugness had not been present, Thomas could still feel Gully’s general dislike for him from across the room. They had no choice but to sit nearby in their last class together—an advance Mathematics class his advisor was adamant for Thomas to take—which only worsened the older boy’s attitude against him. 

It was a wonder how either of them survived. Thomas was sure he was going to punch the damn shank right in the face if Gally sighed insufferably one more time! (If looks could kill, Thomas felt he would have been gutted with the way Gally glared at him just for clicking his pen too much.) 

Thomas’s last class for the day went by uneventfully. They got out earlier than the rest, which left Thomas on his lonesome. He dropped his bag by the foot of his bed and sprawled against the mattress with a relieved sigh. Newt wouldn’t be back until late afternoon and Minho had one more team meeting before his schedule was set for the fall. Thomas hadn’t thought to ask Teresa for her schedule; he wouldn’t know if she was done for the day or had more classes to go. Without any way of knowing, he resigned himself to lying on the bed until one of his boyfriends came to entertain him.

He fell asleep in the calm solace of the room.

 

“Hey.”

Thomas moaned. Something brushed along the side of his face, rough skin contrasted with the smoothness of his cheek, but the movements were gentle, almost loving. He scrunched his nose in disturbance and lazily swatted the offending contact away. It returned swiftly, this time poking him hard in the ribs.

“Hey shuck face, wake up dude.” 

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of his mind, he heard movement. Something warm and heavy tilted the mattress, the shift pulling him closer to the weight.

“Tommy,” a voice whispered, hot against his ear. “Wake up Tommy.” Something soft pressed against his cheekbone.

Thomas twitched. His dreams were shifting, thanks to the disturbance, but the sweet embrace of sleep held onto his conscious mind firmly. He vaguely registered the mysterious weight double around him, his mattress seeming to dip somewhere in the middle. He heard the soft snickers of another before something grabbed his chin. Fingers softer than the ones previous, tilted his chin toward the right and something soft and warm—something familiar—pressed against his lips. 

A memory formed in the darkness. A time where those lips were on his and something wet and just as warm invaded his mouth like the tides of the ocean. He recalled the familiar blond hair, the sensation of Newt’s fingers running through his locks of hair; how aroused he’d been with Newt on top and Minho working his way down. And the humiliation that came after. The looks of disappointment on Minho’s face when he realized nothing more would come out that night. Newt’s concerned eyes watching as he gnawed his lower lip. 

He wanted nothing more than to forget it had ever happened.

He deepened the kiss before Newt could pull way. He felt the older boy stiffen, most likely surprised with Thomas’s eagerness, but it was short lived. He melted into the kiss, letting Thomas lead the way. He wrapped his arms around the blond, pulling Newt’s firm body flush against his.

“Tommy,” the voice murmured against his mouth. “Wake up. Dinner is ready.”

“I don’t want any,” He breathed, holding the blond tight. “I want you and Minho.”

Somewhere in the room, Thomas couldn’t tell as his eyes were still closed, he heard the athlete choke. His eyes fluttered open then, catching sight of Newt lying on top of his frame while Minho, red faced and teary eyed, tried to regain air in his lungs. Once Newt was certain Minho wasn’t going to die, he turned back to Thomas, his expression apprehensive. 

“Tommy, think about what you’re asking here.”

“I know what I’m asking.” He interjected. His hands slid down Newt’s shoulders, the curve of his back and down to his hips until they landed on the curvature of Newt’s ass. He squeezed the blond with promise, pushing their groins together. “Please. Please.”

Newt bit his lip. He glanced back to Minho, who watched them with bated breath, dark eyes wide and hopeful.

“Minho?”

The track captain blinked in surprise. He snapped out his daze and frantically searched around the room for something. He ran toward the computer desk, nearly tripping over himself in the process and yanked open the drawer. He pulled out a bottle of creamy white liquid and slammed it on the desk, his body buzzing with excitement.

“Tommy wants what Tommy wants. Let’s do it. Let’s. Do. It!”

Newt frowned at the boy’s insistence but one last look on Thomas’s face broke down his apprehension. He sighed then pressed his forehead against Thomas’s.

“Okay,” He breathed, eyes closed. He planted a kiss against Thomas’s brow before he pulled away, straddling the younger male. “Okay, we’ll do it. It’s going to hurt and it’ll be messy, but we’ll do what we can to make it hurt less. Just relax your body and trust us.”

Thomas took a deep breath. His heart beat a mile a minute in his chest and his mind ran circles in his head, but he refused to allow their failed Saturday night to plague him anymore than it already did. He exhaled and stared Newt in the eyes. 

“I trust you both.”

Newt smiled, the relief radiating off him in waves.

“Good that,” He heard Minho say. “Let’s get started.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the connection with Assumptions, guys :D

He woke up deliciously sore; muscles exhausted; skin ablaze. A dull ache radiated from his lower half, slow and pulsing. A memory from last night bubbled back to the forefront of his mind and Thomas couldn’t help the languid smile that stretched his lips. It had hurt, just as Newt warned, despite all the preparation they had done. Minho had gone in first. He’d been slow and methodical, the pain of being pierced lessened with him, and although Thomas was grateful for his carefulness, his arousal suffered. 

He’d been erect throughout the experience—a god send, surely—but the orgasm was nearly impossible. Minho had grown tired, his post-orgasm high long substituted with frustration. Newt took his place then. The difference between their lengths didn’t cross Thomas’s mind until he had no choice but to experience it. Minho was longer. Newt was thicker. The blond grinded hard against Thomas’s prostate, his dick squeezed tight in-between those moist walls, until Thomas finally came in a burst of sticky white all over the blankets.

Three hours. It took three hours for Minho and Newt to make him cum. Three long, arduous hours of his boyfriend’s desperately trying to achieve a position that would make him scream in ecstasy.   
He didn’t get to scream, but he came at least.

They cuddled with him that night, hot and sweaty; sticky with their fluids and unbelievably drained. Thomas’s tender muscles pulsed in delicious discomfort. It sent fire through his veins and ignited the arousal in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to do it again—felt embarrassed for even admitting it—but his partners had already fallen asleep.

He dreamt of their first time together.

Now awake in a dirty bed, empty of his lovers, and naked and sore, Thomas felt the storm of emotion slam into him light a freight train. Embarrassment, affection and anxiety swirled in his chest as the experience of last night dawned on him. 

Minho made it no secret his slow to orgasm was a problem. He had watched the post-coital high on Minho’s face morph into exasperation with every thrust he made. He’d seen the arousal in Newt’s expression change into uneasiness until he urged the track captain to relax and leave the rest to him.

Thomas curled into himself, his face hot with shame. He didn’t want Minho to feel annoyed with him. He enjoyed their threesome, even if his body took forever to show it. He hoped Minho wouldn’t take it as a personal offense. And if he did, Thomas would make up for it. He definitely, definitely would.

 

Newt worried his bottom lip, his mind wandering back to last night as his classmates filed into the room. Alby slipped into the chair beside him. The loud bang of his text book jolted Newt out of his daze.

“For bloody sakes you shank! Give me a heart attack why don’t ya?!”

“Sorry,” Alby deadpanned. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping with your eyes open.”

Newt rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t, I was just thinking.”

“Ah, thinking.” Alby rubbed his chin mockingly. “About Minho or Thomas?”

“Tommy.”

Alby nodded sagely. “Oh yes, Mr. Edison. What about the newbie has you troubled this time?”

“We had sex last night.”

“You and Minho?”

Newt nodded. He leaned back against his chair, dark eyes focused on the door as though he expected Thomas to walk in at any moment. Alby shifted in his seat, brows furrowed with interest.

“Okay, what happened?”

Newt sighed. Outside of Minho and Thomas, Alby was the only other person the blond could confide in about his troubles. The fact Alby was not judgmental about Newt’s poly-relationship was an added bonus to their friendship.

“Tommy has… difficulty… when we become sexual.” He frowned. Calling it “difficult” felt wrong on his tongue somehow, like Thomas was damaged in some way. He didn’t see it that way of course, but Newt still felt guilty for calling it that. “Last night proved how much of a problem it’ll be with us.” He grimaced. That wasn’t a good word either.

Alby raised an eyebrow. “You mean he couldn’t get an erection? He’s got E.D.?”

“No, I don’t think it’s that. Last Saturday, he had a hard time maintaining an erection, but last night, it was the orgasm he couldn’t reach. It took us three hours to get something out of him.” Newt rubbed his temples. “Minho was really frustrated with him.”

“That’s not the greenbean’s fault.”

“Try telling him that.” Newt grumbled. “Minho was already gone when I woke up this morning and I didn’t have time to leave Tommy a note before I left. I’m worried those two shanks are going to do something stupid.”

Alby’s chuckle was deep and uncomforting. Newt gave the older male a dark look, his patience slowly waning. Alby held up his hands in a placating gesture and said, “I get it. They’re morons, but they’re your morons so deal with it.”

“Thanks for the bloody advice. I’ll be sure to treasure it always.”

“Alright, alright, you want something more useful? Here’s what you shuckfaces should be doin’ with the newbie: experiment. You said the greenbean’s never been with anyone before right? Then there’s a good chance you two shanks ain’t hitting the right areas for him. Fool around a bit. Talk about what he wants. If he doesn’t have E.D. then this’ll be an easy fix, but if he does, see a doctor and let that slinthead Minho know. From what you tell me, the kid’s pretty damn insecure. Minho getting mad with him about klunk like this is going to make him feel worse.” Alby rolled his eyes dramatically as though Minho’s stupidity was palpable from where ever he was. (Newt didn’t doubt it.)

“Now that I’ve single-handedly fixed your atrocious love life, do you have an extra syllabus that I can borrow? I can’t remember where I left mine.”

Newt scoffed, partially offended but terribly amused. “Thanks Alby, I think you saved my atrocious love life with your words of wisdom.” 

“God damn right! So the syllabus, Newt?”

 

Minho left the dorm before dawn broke for a quick jog to clear his head. He set down for the track field, his head in the clouds and his muscles still sore from last night. Taking Thomas’s virginity had been something Minho wanted to do from the get –go. He had planned the whole thing out and shared it with Newt, who had laughed but helped him plan when it became obvious that Newt too wanted something with Thomas. He wanted it to be a magical experience for the brunet, something the three of them could remember and cherish. He hadn’t accounted for Thomas’s sexual dysfunction to get in the way or the boy’s laundry list of allergies. Now he understood why Newt changed his plans around; why they had switched lube brands and condoms as many times as they did.

If Minho were perfectly honest with himself, last night was a bit of a disappointment. He’d been wrong to carry around the fantasy that dating Thomas would be easy and he’d been wrong to get angry with the boy the way he did. 

Thomas had been hurt. He knew it. Newt knew it. The look on the brunet’s face when Minho gave up wrenched the track captain’s heart with guilt. He knew the frustration he felt for what happened was nothing compared to the way Thomas felt. The boy tried. They all did.

God, he felt like such an asshole.

Was he doing something wrong? Clearly, he had to be. Newt ejaculated with no problem when it was just the two of them. But Thomas, he didn’t understand. Was he not hitting the right areas? Did he want it faster? Harder maybe? Newt liked it slow. Prolonged. He always said it felt more intimate that way, and Minho agreed. He liked taking his time.

Thomas almost went soft when he did. 

Minho scowled.

Slow and steady was not something Thomas liked. Newt seemed to have had the same idea, because it took him less time with vigorous, hard thrusting to get Thomas to cum.

Maybe Minho was truly a horrible lover and Newt was humoring him the whole time?

Maybe Thomas didn’t like him?

Minho picked up the pace, his heart hammering with every step he took. He crossed another lap.

He was being ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. He was still learning Thomas’s body after all. They were bound to have complications. It took him a while to figure out Newt’s kinks. If Thomas had any, he was damn sure going to learn them.

Minho swore the next time they were intimate, he was going to make Thomas cum like never before.

 

Thomas was surprised to find Minho in their dorm so soon after class. He dropped his backpack by the dresser and approached the silent, brooding athlete. 

“Minho?” He questioned. He attentively sat down beside the boy, brown eyes apologetic. “Min, about last night—”

“Am I doing something wrong with you?”

Thomas felt the words die in his throat. Minho turned to him, brows furrowed, black eyes searching.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day. When I tried to give you a hand job, you didn’t respond. When I finally get to fuck you, you don’t cum. Is there something wrong with me that you don’t like Thomas? Am I not getting something here?”

“No, no, it’s not you, Minho—” Thomas tried, but the intensity of Minho’s gaze made his body tremble in anxiety. Minho’s exasperation from last night and Saturday flashed back into his mind. He needed to try harder. He wanted to stop disappointing them like this.

“Minho,” He murmured. He climbed into the older boy’s lap and dipped in for a passionate kiss. Minho’s hands slid up the length of his thighs and curved down to grip his ass, hard and wanting. Thomas moaned into their kiss, his heart suddenly hammering. He pulled away for a moment, entranced by Minho’s half lidded eyes.

“Let me make up for last night, please.” He pleaded.

Minho’s hesitation felt like a punch in the gut, but the track star pressed his forehead against the brunet’s chest and heaved a heavy sigh.

“If that’s what you want Thomas. Make it up to me.”

 

Thomas was asleep again by the time Newt returned to the dorm. He found Minho sitting on his bed, dressed down in boxers and a look of intense concentration on his face. He entered the room cautiously, one blond brow raised in silent question. Minho acknowledged his arrival, but refused to speak. Instead, he gestured toward the door then made his way out into the hall.

“What’s going on?” Newt asked the moment the door closed behind them. He spotted a sizeable bruise on Minho’s collarbone, one he didn’t recall being there last night. He reached out, long, slender fingers brushed against the discolored bruise lightly. The question was in his eyes before he spoke it.

Minho took his hand gently. He squeezed. Newt felt the inklings of worry gnaw on his nerves. 

“What happened?”

“Thomas wanted to make up for last night.” Minho began. The hardness in his gaze slackened. 

Newt blinked. He remembered the day previous when Thomas had told him about wanting to make up for Saturday. To want to make up for last night too? Did Thomas think…?

“Okay, and?”

“I let him ride me.”

“ _And?_ ” He persisted. 

Minho’s body sagged. Newt felt the hand holding his tighten again. “He struggled. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it at all if I hadn’t bit him at the last minute.”

Newt frowned, perplexed. “You bit him?”

Minho nodded.

“And he came?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Minho glanced back to the door before turning to Newt again. “I think Thomas is one of those people who really gets off on pain. He responds better to it at least. I think we should experiment with that.”

“I don’t know, Min. That’s…” Dangerous. Uncharted territory.

Newt knew nothing about masochism and he was certain Minho didn’t either. When it came to sex, Minho and Newt were quite set on what they liked and didn’t like. Sure, they experimented at first, but they fell into a pattern fairly quickly. The desire to explore the rabbit hole deeper had never really came into mind. But Thomas was a special circumstance and Newt wasn’t sure if they were ready to explore that world. Yet, the brunet’s behavior following their sexual adventures and his insecurity of their feelings for him kept Newt from voicing his trepidation. 

Alby’s advice about experimenting filtered back into his mind. He wanted Thomas to be happy, and as it was, he wasn’t. He was nervous, unfulfilled and self-conscious. Everything Newt and Minho didn’t want him to feel when it was between the three of them.

“Okay,” He exhaled, feeling oddly resigned. “Alby suggested we experiment anyway. If you think we should then I’ll agree to it, but this is an unknown world we’re stepping into, Minho. The moment everything goes wrong, we need to stop. I don’t want Thomas to get hurt. The point of this is to make him feel good when he’s with us, not traumatize him.”

Minho nodded, expression solemn. “For Tommy.”

Newt suddenly huffed. “Who said you could call him Tommy?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for important details!!

Thomas felt the shift in their dynamic before it became apparent. Sex with his boyfriends became a constant occurrence after their first time together, although the threesomes were no longer common. Minho and Newt took advantage of Thomas’s light schedule. 

On Tuesdays, when Minho returned early from practice, he would lead Thomas into sex. Some days he was gentle and slow. He would spend time prepping and lavishing the brunet in kisses. Other days, which was most often, Minho was rough, hasty, and almost uncaring. Thomas never failed to be sore those following Wednesdays, but the hot, blinding orgasms he’d get on those days kept him from complaining. He’d forgive Minho for slapping him or biting him so hard it broke skin if it meant he could still receive those orgasms.

Newt didn’t seem to approve of it much.

(The bite marks on Tommy’s shoulders made him wince every time.)

On Thursdays, when Thomas was free for most of the day and Newt had more study hall sessions, the brunet found himself on a very different sexual spectrum.

Whereas Minho had no problem tackling Thomas down and fondling him until he was panting, Newt offered they play a little game. They’d been literal at first. Gold Fish for one study hall; Crazy Eights the next. Maybe a little Jenga on the third. When a game was done and Newt still had time to spare, they would cuddle in each others arms. Newt would run his fingers through the younger boy’s hair, ask him how his day has been, what Minho had done if they’d met sometime in the day. They would swap stories of their classes; complain about things they couldn’t control. Thomas enjoyed moments like this. He often wished Minho would apply it to their get-togethers.

Then, one day, Newt raised the stakes. The person who loses a game would get punished by the winner.

The idea turned him on more than he was comfortable admitting. 

When he lost, which he often did—sometimes intentionally—Newt “punished” him. It was the first time Thomas begged for release.

The climax had been so intense, he forgot how to breathe; who he was, where he was. He’d collapsed into his own spunk, gasping for air in his strained lungs, his body quivering uncontrollably and drenched in sweat. Newt, who hadn’t bothered to touch his own hardened erection, came purely at the sight of the quivering boy. Time had run out then, Newt flew out of the dorm before he was late for his next class, leaving Thomas alone in his mess and emotions.

The pattern went on like that for a few weeks. 

Despite the satisfaction of being able to please his lovers, Thomas felt incomplete. Their sex life was a wild experience—rumors were already starting to spread like wild fire in their dorm building—but the lack of emotional intimacy afterwards made Thomas’s anxiety roar. Both Minho and Newt seemed distracted once the deed was done. Thomas couldn’t help wondering what they were thinking once it was over.

Did they not like it? Was he bad? Did they want to switch? He wouldn’t have minded. He didn’t think it was fair he was always on the receiving end lately, even if the climaxes were nice. But how could he tell them that when he had enough trouble as it is? And how could he talk to either of them when they were always texting afterwards?

Thomas watched, curled on his side, wrists burning from Newt’s latest experiment—tying his hands impossibly tight—as the blond in question reached for his phone and began to type.

Hurt blossomed in his chest like a spear through his heart followed by the anger that burned his veins. It chased away the hollow disappointment that resonated in his soul; filled him up with something more tangible. Something safer and strong. He curled tighter into himself, ignoring the aches and pains of their sexual romp. Images of the times when they used to cuddle flashed into mind. It made the ache worse and the anger boil.

He could still feel the greasy mess of their lube coating the ring of his anus, but what was once pulsating with heat felt cold and empty—like everything else lately. But Newt had climaxed; had come grunting his name. He’d kissed him until they couldn’t breathe, embraced him so tightly, Thomas could believe for a moment they were very much in love, but then Newt pulled away and got on his phone.

He watched the blond’s thumb dance across the screen, the soft electronic ticks methodic in the stark silence. The tell-tale whoosh of a message being sent brought Thomas out of his reverie, and he gazed at the blond’s head just as Newt turned around.

The older boy smiled softly. He ducked under the upper bunk and pressed a chaste kiss against the brunet’s lips.

“How are you feeling?”

The sound of Newt’s phone silenced Thomas’s reply. He watched in resentment as Newt’s brown eyes turned back to the phone, Minho’s name suddenly bright against the screen.

Something sickening coiled in his stomach.

“You’re texting Minho?” Thomas winced. His tome was too bitter for his liking.

Newt’s thumb paused over a key, but the blond continued, humming a reply.

Thomas gnawed on his lower lip. He peeled a thin layer of skin with his teeth.

“Does Minho text you?” When he’s done with me?

“Of course he does even when he knows he shouldn’t.” The blond scoffed, his tone chiding, but Thomas saw the affectionate smile on the older boy’s lips. “Don’t you get random texts from him?”

No was Thomas’s honest answer, but instead he nodded. He didn’t rust himself to speak at the moment.

He tore another thin layer of skin from his lips.

“We should… we should make love together again…”

The term felt strange on his tongue. “Making love” implied attachment. Romantic intimacy. Affection. What they had been doing lacked all of the above. Thomas felt they hadn’t made love since he gave them his virginity three weeks ago. (When they discovered he was damaged goods; unable to climax the same way they could, even under the right circumstances.)

He missed their intimacy.

He missed their affection.

Newt searched his face for a moment, his expression unreadable. He grew anxious at the way those brown eyes lingered a second too long on his worried lips, Newt’s brows furrowed in a way that showed he didn’t really like something. He ran his tongue over them, tasting the soft copper of blood from them. He hadn’t realized he’d been bleeding.

Newt leaned into his space again and planted a gentle kiss against his temple. He lingered a moment longer, his forehead pressed against Thomas’s, his eyes closed as though he were thinking deeply. Thomas savored their closeness. He didn’t move in fear of ruining their moment and tried to relish the warmth between them; the delicate way Newt’s hands held onto his chin; the soft breathing of the blond’s breath. 

(A part of him mourned for Minho, who hadn’t done this. Who, maybe, wouldn’t ever do this—not with him.)

The silence was broken by Newt’s exhale. “Okay Tommy, I’ll tell Minho that’s what you want.” He pulled away, taking the warmth, the love and the tenderness away. “It’s going to be difficult with midterms coming up but we’ll figure something out.” Newt reached for his clothes, cell phone still in hand.

Thomas watched him in silence, his body throbbing; emotions turbulent. 

 

Newt and Minho strolled along the campus sidewalk, fingers locked and a bag with their dinner in Minho’s hand. The autumn night hung overhead, the chilly air caressing their faces as the bright red leaves fluttered in the darkness. The bright lights of WCK’D U’s campus dulled the starry night, but the few stars they could see brought a smile to the blond’s lips. He leaned into Minho’s form, enjoying the heat, but wishing their third lover was there with them.

(Minho had tried to call Thomas to join them on their hunt for dinner, but the brunet seemed hell bent on ignoring his calls. When Newt tried, he was sent straight to voice message. Minho had called him a shank out of spite, but the hurt was evident in the track captain’s whole demeanor.)

“Thomas is getting anxiety again, Min.” Newt murmured, remembering the blood from earlier. “He’s peeling the skin on his lips.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“We’re doing that to him. We’re stressing him out, Minho!”

“We’re all stressed out, Newt.” The runner countered defensively. “Midterms are in two weeks, I’ve got a track game next Saturday, Janson’s on Thomas’s ass again and you’ve got that assignment to do—we’re all shucking stressed, Newt! At least our experiments are working. He comes 95% of the time.”

“But at what cost?” Newt snapped. “He doesn’t talk to me anymore! He doesn’t complain about things he has every bloody right to complain about!” 

They stopped walking then, the heat of their conversation warming them uncomfortably.

“I tied him up today, Minho. I tied him up extra tight because I wanted him to tell me he was uncomfortable. I wanted him to let me know the bonds were too tight on his wrists, but you know what that bloody shank did? He dealt with it. Even when his skin was chafing and his wrists started bleeding, he didn’t bloody say a damn thing! And you know why? Because he thinks that’s what I bloody want, Minho! I could see it on his face, he thinks I want him to suffer through that. He thinks I don’t care enough to listen to what he wants. That’s not bloody right Minho! That’s not what I want Tommy to take away from us!” 

Newt heaved, his body quivering, not from the cold or the rage, but from something deeper. His heart ached in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. His eyes burned before he knew it and the heat of embarrassment rushed through him so fast it was disorientating. His breath hitched. He turned away, but Minho pulled him into his arms and held him tight.

His voice were soft against his ears. “Okay, I get it. We’ve taken this too far. Thomas is suffering, you’re suffering—”

“We’re all suffering, Minho.” The blond muttered bitterly, his voice thick.

“Yeah,” Minho sighed. He held onto Newt tightly. “Yeah… we are…”

“He wants to have a threesome. I told him we’d find a way to make it work for him.” Newt pulled away, his nose pink but his cheeks dry. Minho grabbed the boy’s hand again and resumed their walk, a part of him hoping their dinner was still warm enough to eat. 

“It’ll be easier once midterms are out of the way—”

“It has to be before midterms.” They stopped again in front of the housing complex doors, Newt’s eyes hard and wet under the lamp’s light. Minho frowned in perplexity.

“Why before?”

“Tommy needs this now. He needs to know we love him and care for him. Waiting for midterms would be too long. And…” He paused for a moment, unsure of his words.

“And?” Minho urged gently.

“After midterms, I want to take him out somewhere special to celebrate. I want it to be romantic, an official date with the three of us. You’re good at that, so… find us something great, yeah?”

Minho’s expression softened at the thought. He nodded. “Of course.”

“Good that.” Newt breathed. “Now let’s go home and feed Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story isn't over, but the Tribulations of Love portion is. The plot continues in Assumptions
> 
> Read Thomas's Sick Day before reading Assumptions! (It's not necessary but that's the order XD)
> 
> Let me know if the links aren't working.


End file.
